Australian Tales - Setis

tittle to me which side I sit, I can manage capitally. Now pony, get away,
sir! Hi! what's his name, boy?” he asked of the grinning youth who had
been holding the pony's head.
“His name's Jerry, sir.”
“Ah! O yes, thank you. Get along, Jerry,” said Mr. Spindle, giving the
reins a jerk, and just stroking him with the whip-lash.
“Hit him hard, sir,” said the youth aforesaid; “he's as knowing as an old
magpie, that pony is. He won't care no more for your just tickling him
with the whip-cord, than if a mosquito was kicking him, not a bit.”
“He won't run away, boy, will he?” asked Mr. Goosgog, in rather an
anxious tone.
“Not he, sir,” said the boy, grinning as before; “he's a plaguey deal too
lazy for that. He wouldn't run away if you'd got a hen-coop full of
cockatoos in the chaise all in full scream, or a fire bell hanging to the
axletree, ringing for the engines. Dash him! I often wish he would run
away. Hit him very hard, sir, he won't hurt you.”
“Ah! I'll make him go, I'll warrant, the lazy fellow,” said Mr. Spindle,
giving him a savage slash with the whip, which Jerry seemed to
understand from experience, for he whisked his tail — rather pettishly
though — and started off at a smart trot, while the two friends smiled and
looked as triumphant as if they had tamed a tiger. The boy grinned again,
then went on his way home, whistling “Billy Button.”
Away they jogged, behind Jerry, through the turnpikegate, along the
red road to Paddington, without anything very remarkable occurring.
They roused up a disagreeable dust, which their white jackets evidenced;
but that is not remarkable on that road. The soldiers at the barrack gates,
and the idlers at the roadside inns, stared and giggled at them as they
trotted by; but it would have been remarkable if they had not done so, for
Mr. Spindle was administering half minute strokes with his whip on the
pony's hips and ribs as vigorously as if he were killing snakes, while Mr.
Goosgog assisted to stimulate the sluggish brute to go forward, by giving
him frequent downward digs, on a convenient part of his body, with the
ferule end of an umbrella, and at the same time peremptorily
commanding him to “come up.” Round spun the wheels, and soon the
city of Sydney was more than three miles behind them, and the spirits of
the two liberated tradesmen were as light as gossamer or blond tulle.
“Ah! this scenery beats Richmond Hill all to ribbons; it is richer than
our show-room, I declare!” exclaimed Mr. Spindle, with lackadaisical
rapture, as he ceased working with the whip for a short time, and let the
pony take his own pace when they had got to the top of Waverley
heights, to allow time for enjoying the magnificent views of Port Jackson
and Botany Bay, with the lovely landscape all around, where nature and
art combine to make a picture which is unrivalled in this world of beauty.
“Oh, dear, dear,” sighed Jasper, “this is a charming prospect; eh! Joey?”